“In return, you’ll make sure that I secure an alliance with a really powerful family.”
“What?” I blurted out, eyes wide with shock.
“You will fulfil the duty your mother ignored years ago.”
“You can’t be serious!” I protested, heart racing in my heaving chest.
“This is my condition; take it or leave it,” he replied coldly.
“And if I refuse?”
He paused. “Then prepare to bury your mother.”
I couldn’t believe a man could be so mean to his own flesh and blood. He didn’t even show any sympathy or fear for his daughter’s life. This man was ready to let her die if I didn’t comply, and my hatred for him was starting to grow.
He walked over to a nearby bench and sat on it, then crossed his legs. “I hope you realize that whether your mother lives or dies solely depends on you.” He looked at me. “She made her choice years ago. It’s time you made yours.”
Richard Beaumont was the definition of evil. But despite how much I already despised the old man, he was my only hope. I had no one else to turn to except him.
It didn’t feel like I was speaking with my grandpa. It felt more like I was making a deal with the devil.
Choices had consequences, and whatever decision I made would greatly affect my life in the most negative ways possible. If I chose to walk away, I’d be responsible for my mother’s death. And that guilt would hunt me for the rest of my life.
If I chose to surrender to him, I’d be signing my life away. I’d become a puppet, another pawn in his game of power and influence. I’d have no future, and happiness would forever be beyond my reach.
Being selfish would save my life, but it would take my mother’s.
Fuck it. What was life without the one person I loved the most in this world?
If signing my future away was the price to pay for her surgery, then I would gladly be sold off to the devil himself.
Chapter 2 – Adrik
The strong scent of vodka and the faint traces of aged paper filled the air as I sat in the visitor’s chair. Across from me was Pakhan Artem, the overall leader of the Tarasov Bratva.
He was seated in the leather armchair behind his mahogany table, a Cuban cigar perched between his lips. His red tie was knitted perfectly around his neck, his brown sleeveless jacket matching the color of his pants.
Despite being in his mid-fifties, the man was still as agile and strong as ever. The base of his hair was turning gray, and after a long time, he’d finally decided to grow a beard.
I loved the new look. Perhaps someday I, too, would keep my facial hair.
When I’d received a call from him two days ago, I knew whatever he wanted to discuss with me had to be of grave importance. He scheduled a meeting at his office today, which was why I was here.
By now, we were already way past the pleasantries—I asked about his kids and his wife, Sierra. He asked about the business and my role as the Bratva’s Fixer. As the Fixer, it was my job to clean up our organization’s mess.
I was the man in charge of making people disappear without a trace. I was the one the Bratva sent to uncooperative debtors.
“You must be wondering why I called for you,” he said, his voice snapping me back to the present.
I cleared my throat and adjusted in my chair.
“There is a deal that I want you to close,” he said, smoke curling around his face. “The Bratva needs a clean, strategic alliance with Beaumont Holdings.”
“Beaumont?” I asked. “The old-money American empire?”
He nodded. “The agreement is simple: a marriage between one of ours and the old man’s granddaughter.”
My brows raised, knowing where he was going with this. “Granddaughter?” I asked. “Isn’t she underage?”
